


Gentle

by remanth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Destiel - Freeform, First Blade, Gentle, M/M, Sacrifice, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel reflects on what brought them to this place and the losses they'd suffered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle

Slowly, ever so slowly, Castiel smoothed a gentle hand over light brown hair. He still couldn’t quite believed they’d ended here though, looking back, each and every step seemed simply inevitable. Maybe this outcome was fated from the first moment Cain had passed the Mark to Dean. Brushing a few locks off a smooth forehead, Castiel felt tears gathering in his eyes. They were hot, burning at the edges of his lids. A twisting in his gut accompanied them, a pain that almost had him doubling over from the sheer strength of it.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he murmured, meeting staring green eyes. There was anger in his voice threaded through with fondness. And a deep, abiding sorrow. “Always the sacrifice. You should have let me help you.”

Things were back to normal, now. Well, as normal as they would get. Metatron was dead, killed by the First Blade that rested a few feet away from where Castiel was sitting. Blood still stained the teeth, blood and a slight tinge of blue that Castiel knew was Metatron’s grace. He’d never seen the Blade kill an angel but it was interesting that grace had leaked through. Sam was in the Impala, nursing a broken arm and a slash in his belly that, luckily, hadn’t been deep enough to seriously harm. That slash had come from the First Blade before Castiel had stepped in. He had a matching slash angled across his chest that burned but, again, wasn’t deep enough to be dangerous.

Gadreel had taken on the job of ferrying their brothers and sisters back up to Heaven. Only he knew where the door was, had kept it secure even from Metatron. He would keep order up in Heaven, keep their family together and calm. There was no way Gadreel would become like Castiel or Metatron, let the power go to his head and try to become God. There were plenty of examples for him of how that way led to suffering, chaos, and death. Gadreel had even reversed the changes Metatron had wrought, allowing another prophet to be called and the souls stuck in the veil to go on to their eternal rest. Heaven gained quite a few new heavens and the angels were given the job of tending them.

Crowley still lived though that wasn’t too horrible. At least for now. With his new-found empathy, Crowley wasn’t as evil as he used to be. While he still did things for his own benefit, and for Hell’s benefit, he could be counted on to help when it aligned with his interests. And better the devil you know. If Crowley had been killed, who knows who would have taken over Hell? Besides, Crowley was smart enough to keep a low profile, never showing himself to the Winchesters. You can’t kill what you can’t find.

But perhaps now was the time to leave. He’d lost track of the time he’d been sitting here, idly running his fingers through soft hair. It was something he’d never allowed himself to do before, in the rare instances they’d touched. It all seemed a bit silly now, the arguing and the distance and the silences. A sentence floated up from the pop culture information Metatron had given him, a sentence Castiel had to agree with with a sardonic smile. “Hindsight’s twenty/twenty.” Quite a few things would have been different, had he known how this would go. Maybe the most important thing of all. Blinking away a fresh wave of tears, Castiel laid his palm gently on a cold cheek. It was time to go. This battle hadn’t been quiet and human authorities would be here soon. But there was one last thing he could do.

Setting the head in his lap carefully down on the concrete, Castiel stood. He rearranged stiff limbs into a semblance of rest, kicking the First Blade harshly away. _That_ had no place here, not anymore. Of course, he’d go pick it up later, hide it away. Stooping for just a moment, Castiel smoothed light brown hair one last time. Pulling out a lighter, one he’d bought from a cigarette store when he’d started hunting in earnest, Castiel flicked it on and stared at the flame. It hurt a little that he couldn’t do this himself, had to rely on human inventions. Yet his grace had burned out of him in a spectacular flare, distracting Metatron long enough to be killed.

“Goodbye,” Castiel said quietly as Sam walked up to him with an unsteady step. He could hear the hunter breathing in harsh gasps and didn’t look at him. There would be time later for comfort and words. Now, the best thing Castiel could do for Sam was leave him to his grief. The sharp smell of gasoline rose around them as Sam poured it liberally, making Castiel’s nose wrinkle. And then it was time. He dropped the lighter, landing on a still chest and bouncing slightly. Flames rose up with a crackling roar and they both stepped back. Neither Sam nor Castiel went far, though, keeping vigil for as long as it was safe. After all, Dean would have wanted a hunter’s funeral. He had been a hunter to the last, even as he’d stabbed himself believing he’d become the monster.

**Author's Note:**

> I read a drabble a while back about Dean turning the Blade on himself because he'd become the monster. It stuck in my head so I decided to write something sad and angsty before the finale tonight. I just hope that's not what really happens.


End file.
